


Corner of the Sky

by SD_Ryan, Tchalcons



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: All Your Favs Are Trans, Allusions to Torture (On The Raft, Background Polyamory, Featuring Nudity and Morning-After-Sex, M/M, Mostly For the Last Scene, Nonbinary Sam Wilson, Post Captain America: Civil War, Rated M Just To Be Safe, Sam Becomes Captain America, Sam Leads the Avengers, Sam and Steve are Joined at the Soul, Trans Steve Rogers, Trans T'Challa, brief mentions of dysphoria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 02:37:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12202188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SD_Ryan/pseuds/SD_Ryan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tchalcons/pseuds/Tchalcons
Summary: After The Raft, Sam learns to celebrate the little victories in letting their guard drop and sleeping through the night. It counts as another, to find compromise, to return home and become a hero once again. It's something more to do so as Captain America, to take command of the team at a time when the stakes have never felt higher.It's worth it all, when the suit comes off and the shield is set down, to realize that for the first time in years, they're at peace once more.





	Corner of the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is. my fic for the Sam Wilson Birthday Bang. Endless thanks to the friends who listened to me talk on and on about this. And thank you so, so much to my amazing and super talented artist [SD_Ryan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SD_Ryan/pseuds/SD_Ryan)/[This-Simple-Mind](http://this-simple-mind.tumblr.com/) for their art. I'm so, so lucky for the chance to work with you and for this bang in general.

It had been terrifyingly easy to lose track of time on the Raft. The lights never shut off and Sam had been taken off for questioning at what had certainly _felt_ like all hours of the day and night, sleep deprived and delirious as their captors tried to make them give up all the information they knew.

Where was Steve Rogers? Where had he taken Barnes? What are they planning?

The questions had come, over and over again, phrased what felt like a thousand different ways. They’d hoped, Sam thought, that the longer they waited, the longer it was that Sam was left without contact from the outside, the easier Sam was going to be to break. They’d thought it was possible to break them at all.

The thing was, they didn’t know Sam Wilson. They didn’t know Steve Rogers. And they didn’t know the bond that they shared, forged in the fires of battle in DC, in taking down Hydra bases and searching for the man they’d finally found. They didn’t know that Sam and Steve had bared their souls to each other time and time again, that they were kindred spirits that they were two halves of the same person in so many ways, that the understanding between them was more than could have ever been explained.

They’d underestimated Sam because of it, had failed miserably in outlasting them. They’d spent two years at Steve’s side, they’d had his back and knew Steve had theirs too, no matter what the situation was. Their time on The Raft had changed them, but they’d known above all else that Steve would come for them. 

So Sam wasn’t shocked at all when the prison went too quiet around them and Steve appeared, jaw set and looking ready for a fight. It meant Sam hadn’t been shocked in the slightest, when Steve passed by all of the others and came to them first. They sank into it when Steve pulled them close and hugged them too tightly, his grip firm and unrelenting as he apologized for taking so long. They were partners still, always, they still worked best together, they needed each other to stay steady and strong as they freed the others.

And then they’d climbed into the stolen quinjet and gone to Wakanda, of all places. There was supposed to be nothing here, Sam thought. That was what the history books said, at least. Wakanda was small, and reclusive, their main resource was vibranium, which they kept closely guarded. There was nothing worth seeing there. There should have been no refuge there, especially after all that had happened in Vienna.

Wakanda was kept closely guarded from all kinds of intruders, Steve had said when the jet had touched down. The nation itself, what was hidden within it, was precious in it’s own right, more than vibranium, and they’d cultivated those lies, in part to protect it. And it was their king, T’Challa, who after trying to kill Barnes, after the chase they’d had, the fight and so much more had offered them solace in the place he’d sworn to protect with his life. He’d offered them solace when he’d had every reason not to.

It was the king, who’d told Steve where they were being kept, who’d slipped him the coordinates to the Raft and refueled the quinjet, even if he hadn’t come himself to help Steve free them, unable to risk being seen with them and already busy cementing his place as king.

They’d been in Wakanda for two weeks now. After the first few days, Scott had left, promising to get in touch when things had settled down again and he'd found his grounding. Clint had gotten in touch with Natasha who- judging by what Steve had said- was with Sharon and the fractured remains of SHIELD. They were all criminals now, but Sam had no doubts that Natasha had a safehouse or two ready to go, big enough for one or four or ten people, depending on who all was there and how long the group stayed together. Maybe, they thought, Clint’s family could join him on the run. Part of them hoped they could, at least, that Clint wouldn’t have to give up his family in the way Sam had. Maybe Clint could have them back even if life would never be what it had been before.

Sam envied him a little, if only for the opportunity. There were dangers to being what they were to Steve, after all, and Sam knew they’d be at the top of the watch list with him. They were the ones whose faces had been plastered all over the news, they hadn’t signed the Accords, they’d gotten in an international incident with a king, they’d fled with a criminal. And even if Bucky wasn’t a criminal, even if they were in the right, leaving Wakanda was more dangerous for them than ever before. And it’d remain dangerous until their names and records were cleared, enough so that Steve was afraid to go anywhere where they could be found easily.

And so, Steve stayed in Wakanda and Sam had stayed at his side, instead of taking Natasha's invitation to join her. For his part, the king hadn’t seemed to mind their presence and so, Sam and Steve had made themselves comfortable in a shared suite. They focused on planning during the daylight hours, on trying to figure out where would be the safest place for them to go next, the best place to hide and to heal. They kept each other company during their waking moments and with Steve at their side it was easier. Steve, at least, had known Sam before. He knew how to draw Sam out of their head, how to help keep them moving when they couldn’t on their own. With Steve, it was easier to endure, it was easier to believe that the future could still have something good in it.

Night came, and Sam found it that much harder to pretend that all was well. Sleep had never been more difficult to come by, even immediately after they’d been discharged, and relaxing felt nearly impossible. The suite was luxurious, their bed was comfortable, they had no excuse for tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling while Steve slept comfortably in the next room over.

Except for how the walls made them feel trapped, made them feel caged, like they were in their cell again. And so Sam left them behind most nights, wandering the halls aimlessly at first, learning the layout of the palace and trying to remind themself that they were safe here.. 

It took them three nights to find the gardens. There, at least, there were no walls. The air there was warm on their skin, the sound of the wind in the trees around them was soothing, and the sweet scent of the flowers in the air was welcome. It probably wasn’t the best of habits, to come out every night, to fall asleep beneath the trees when exhaustion finally claimed them. But that had never stopped Sam.

They’d been doing it for a week, bringing out a borrowed lantern at the request of the staff and camping out under what they’d come to think of as their spot beneath a tall tree, the first time that things changed. It was going on two in the morning and exhaustion was just starting to wear on Sam, making their vision fuzzy and making it far too difficult to focus on anything but how badly they wanted sleep, and the fact that it just wouldn’t come. 

Maybe it was that that made them miss the sound of footsteps as they approached, or maybe there was just no sound of someone approaching at all until someone cleared their throat a few feet behind them.

Immediately Sam was on alert again, their eyes open and body shifting, a little clumsy and out of practice but ready to defend themself, ready to attack, depending on what was coming and what they needed to do. It took a moment too long to realize that it was T’Challa, it was the king who was staring down at him, dark eyes shining in the light of Sam’s lantern. His face was unreadable like this and for a moment Sam could do nothing more than blink up at him piecing thoughts together.

And then they were hit by an overwhelming wave of _something_. They couldn’t place it as guilt, or shame, not quite at least, but it was enough to make Sam straighten up properly, brushing off their clothing as they went. It was wrong, to say that they cared about perceptions because T’Challa was royalty, but he was a stranger, and Sam was intent on pretending they had it together. Few people could know that they didn’t, it wasnt safe to be vulnerable, after everything. “Your highness, I-” Sam wavered where they stood from moving too fast and T’Challa reached out to steady them with one strong hand pressed to their shoulder.

“I didn’t mean disturb you,” His voice was low, soft and with just an edge of concern to it, the worry something Sam didn’t want to cause but his tone soothing despite it. It made a knot of the tension that had settled in their chest ease as they looked at the king. “I was just a little…” He trailed off, “I hear you’ve been out here quite a bit, in my absence.”

And okay, that was about the last thing Sam had expected. They’d known T’Challa was gone, off on meetings with the world slowly coming back from the absolute shit show that had been the Accords. The king had so much going on Sam didn’t know where he’d possibly found room to hear about Sam, let alone worry about them, too. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“You don’t have to apologize for it,” T’Challa assured him quietly, “I don’t blame you for seeking someplace you’re comfortable.” For a moment their eyes met and Sam saw understanding reflected in them, he looked bone tired in a way that Sam knew well, dark eyes haunted and shoulders tight. “Sometimes sleep can be an elusive thing.”

It was coming from a man who looked dead on his feet, who was wearing soft, comfortable clothes that maybe weren’t pajamas, but Sam would bet that he’d been relaxing in, and who’d found the time to talk to Sam like this. For a moment, all Sam could think was that he had to know that from experience, because T’Challa had had the worst kind of month as well.

And unlike Sam, he hadn’t been healing in a nice, cushy room where he could try to find his peace. He’d been working, perhaps the entire time. Had T’Challa stopped, even before Sam had come to Wakanda? Had he taken a moment to himself?

“Well,” Sam said finally, “I guess you’d know, about as well as anyone else, huh? Figured, may as well deal with it somewhere I like being.”

“It’s different,” The reply was immediate, seemed almost thoughtless and Sam flashed back to days in New York and DC, lying through their teeth after particularly hard battles whether with real opponents or just themself. It wasn’t their fault, nothing was wrong, their sleep schedule had just gotten messed up, over and over again. It had all been a lie. “Travelling as I do makes sleep difficult.”

“And I’m gunna guess that all the shit you’ve been through over the past few weeks doesn’t help any either?” Sam prompted, not wanting to shy away from it despite the temptation. It was easier, dealing with someone else’s struggles than their own, sometimes. And sometimes, it was better to have company to struggle on their own. “I’m just saying, if you’re already out here you could stay for a bit. Relax a little. You look like the kinda guy who could probably use it some.”

“Some men would take that as an insult,” Still there was an edge of a smile on T’Challa’s features, a warmth to his eyes that hadn’t been there, before. And his tone was edged with something Sam couldn’t quite put a name to. “Do you mind the company? I don’t want to interrupt your peace”

“Hey man, it’s your place, I’m just the one who you’re letting hang out here,” Sam pointed out, holding T’Challa’s gaze as they sank down to sit at the base of the tree once more. “Besides, as far as cats go, you’re not all that bad so far.”

“You’re more of a dog person?”

“Gotta be, to stick around Cap for as long as I have. Trust me, he’s like an overexcited golden retreiver some days,” Sam flashed T’Challa a smile, hoping he understood it was a joke. “But between you and me, after all of this?” They gestured around them with one hand, unable to put it into words. The gardens, the palace, the kindness T’Challa had shown them when no one would have been able to blame him for not. “You’re making a good case for cats. They might be growing on me a little.”

“Flattery, Sam,” He sounded dismissive, but T’Challa was smiling just a little, and his voice was still quiet and warm as he settled at Sam’s side, close enough that they could both see easily, that if Sam wanted to they could reach out and touch the king.. “I should warn you, it doesn’t get most very far with me.” 

“Maybe not,” Sam allowed, letting themself be pleased instead for the sight of the smile on the king’s features, the way his tension was slowly easing from his shoulders and the lines of his body as he leaned back against the tree. “But I think I’ll see where this goes.”

*****

Nothing changed that night, not in the grand scheme of things. Sam’s nights were still sleepless, their days as productive as they could make them, with Steve alone the only person he could talk to about how they struggled. Steve struggled too, and together the two of them did their best to keep each other sane, knowing that they didn’t have to hide from the other, at least.

And if anyone else suspected Sam as still a little bit of a mess when they saw them wandering the palace, or slipping into the kitchens for a snack, or training until they were too exhausted to move, well Sam could only hope that they wouldn’t judge them for it.

It was just a little strange now, because suddenly T’Challa knew. Suddenly their host, the Black Panther, a literal king, knew that Sam hadn’t had a solid night’s sleep since before Peggy Carter’s funeral. Suddenly, Sam was sharing their sleepless nights with the king when their schedules both aligned and talking about themself during it..

During the day they never saw each other. During the day, Sam and Steve tried to figure out what their futures held, and T’Challa was off in conferences and meetings, holed up in his office and occasionally out of the country once more, intent on proving that he could be the kind of king his father had been once.

At night, they met under the same tree they had the first time. It was never a commitment, and sometimes T’Challa didn’t come, too busy to leave his work and leaving Sam to hope he’d rest on his own. Sometimes Sam couldn’t find the physical or mental energy to move from their bed. Just once they’d managed to fall asleep in their room, a miracle in itself. But it was almost an open offer, since that first night. They’d never really talked about it, but when Sam had gone to their tree and found T’Challa already there they hadn’t questioned it, either.

Sometimes, there was comfort just in not being alone.

Somewhere along the line the awkwardness had faded away. Somewhere along it, Sam had stopped tripping up over the fact that it was a king at their side, who sought them out during the too-long nights. Somewhere along it, Sam had started looking forward to the nights with T’Challa, with someone who didn’t know them from before, who they didn’t know at all, but they could learn.

Somewhere along it all, Sam had learned to read the nuances of T’Challa’s body language, how he said everything he needed to with his eyes, the tension he carried in his shoulders, how he carried not the weight of the world, but Wakanda on his shoulders. And they’d learned to give up their own vulnerabilities as well. They had common ground in many ways, in how they shouldered their burdens and grief for the greater good, how they both tried to stay steady and strong when they could. Sam suspected they could have spent weeks, just talking about their identities and the perception of them by those who thought they could pass judgement.

They’d learned to call T’Challa a friend after those nights in the garden and that made it bittersweet when he and Steve finally made their decision. They’d been in Wakanda for nearly a month, trying to piece it all together and in the end, they’d settled on the French countryside. Sharon had checked in on it, had made sure it wasn’t bugged and that nobody had found it, that there’d be no risk in going there. Natasha had established which of Steve’s accounts set up after the fall of SHIELD was safe, and that they’d be able to access to them there.

It was small, very nearly a cottage. The nearest town was far enough away that they hoped no one else would even know they were there. It wouldn’t be home, not really, but it would be safety and Sam knew that sometimes, that was enough. While they waited for things to calm down, it would have to be enough.

“I’m gunna miss this, y’know. Might have to look into adopting a cat, just to make myself feel a little better about our late night chats.” It was going on four in the morning and Sam wasn’t awake because of the nightmares. They were awake because of nerves, because tomorrow it would all be over, and life was going to change again.

T’Challa was the exact opposite, Sam knew. He’d joined them a little before two, body tense and coiled tight, eyes shadowed and haunted in a way that Sam knew intimately. Sometimes you just couldn’t escape the ghosts of the past, sometimes you needed something to distract you from your demons.

Even now the king wasn’t asleep either, though his eyes were closed and he looked better, more relaxed than he’d been earlier. Sam had been talking on and off at him for the past few hours, not necessarily making conversation but filling the silence and doing what they could to remind T’Challa that he was safe still, that he was in Wakanda and whatever he was remembering, it was over.

“Have I truly charmed you that much?”

“I plead the fifth, on that one. But I mean, c’mon. man. At least that way I’ll have company, when the nights get long and lonely.” The thought was painful, made their chest ache, just a little. They’d gotten used to T’Challa, they took comfort in his presence now, and didn’t want to lose him. “Even if they can’t snark back at me.”

The fifth amendment doesn’t apply in Wakanda,” T’Challa remarked dryly, “But we’re excellent listeners.” T’Challa offered, looking over at Sam in the light of the lantern Sam still brought with them. “With plenty to say, if you know how to listen.”

“I’m taking that as confirmation that you do because you can talk to cats. Please, please tell me that means you can talk to cats.”

“Samuel.”

“That’s not a no.”

“I can’t speak to cats of any kind. Can you speak to birds?”

“Only in my dreams. And parrots, but I don’t think they count.” The joke was worth T’Challa’s low laugh and Sam edged just a little closer to him, lay down next to him and nudged the king’s arm with their own. “But I’m also just someone who’s got metal wings. I ain’t like you.”

“You’re far more than just a person with wings.” T’Challa tilted his head, held their gaze for a moment too long, enough that Sam couldn't possibly doubt his conviction in that moment. “But if it makes you feel better if I ever develop the skill, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Even if I’m in France?”

“Or elsewhere. There are these things called phones, I’m sure you’ve heard of them. They’re not that advanced technology.”

Sam swatted at T’Challa just a little, but the king shifted away, avoiding it and pushing himself up to sit. “You get my number when you were giving Cap yours in case someone tries to arrest us again?”

“Of course not, that would be rude. I have no qualms about getting yours personally.” T’Challa shifted slowly, pulling a pen from his pocket. “Give me your hand.” Frowning, Sam complied, careful to stay still even when he began to write. 

“What is this, middle school? I could’ve gotten your number from Steve, y’know.”

“I’d hope not. I like to pretend those days never happened, and I’d imagine my teenage years were much different than yours. I’ve heard horrors, of America’s public school system at that age..” T’Challa offered. “But Captain Rogers doesn’t have this number.”

“Oh? That mean you gave him a fake one? That sounds like it’d end in disaster and I’m gunna have a bone to pick with you if it goes to someone else, you know..”

“I gave him a professional one, for lack of a better word. Politicians get that number. World leaders, my allies. When people need to contact me as a king, I give them that.” T’Challa shrugged, releasing Sam’s hand from his grasp. “Friends get this one, so very few have it. I trust you won’t share it?”

“I would never.” 

“I know.” Sam had to drop their gaze for a moment, T’Challa’s expression more intense than they’d expected. “But now you have to stay in touch. It wouldn’t do, to offend a king, you know.”

Sam shoved T’Challa at that, but they were smiling, and T’Challa smiled back at them in reply as he offered Sam the pen so they could write down their number for T’Challa as well. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” They promised easily, reaching for T’Challa’s hand in the darkness, “Gotta keep at least one person around who likes me, right?”

*****

The move went smoothly enough, all things considered. Steve said his goodbyes to Bucky though the other man was in cyrostasis still, and Sam bid their farewells to the few people they’d managed to make friends with, and wished them the best. Together, they bid T’Challa and Shuri their goodbyes, thanked them for their kindness, and made their way back onto the stolen Quinjet.

Jetlag was as difficult to deal with as ever, even like this. Steve made the trip without a hitch and they got settled the best they could, unpacking the few possessions that they still had between the two of them. There wasn’t much to it, but Sam set to making a home out of their little cottage anyways, bound and determined to make the situation feel more permanent than it did in that moment, and making it comfortable for them both.

Only when it looked lived in, did it feel right did Sam let themself enjoy it, document it and savor the moment for what it was, a kind of freedom that they didn’t have before even if they couldn’t quite join the world again. They couldn’t go home, they couldn’t return to their family, but they had one of their most important people there and contact with the others and that meant something, at least.

And it gave them something to do, as well. Sam took pictures of the art that Steve had picked out for the walls -and the ones he’d drawn and hung up. They took pictures of furniture that they’d chosen and books upon books that they’d squabbled over and gotten entirely too many of. They took pictures of the view from their front door and their bedroom, the sun as it rose along the horizon, and the clear sky at night, even if their phone couldn’t quite capture the view.

The line was secure. The line was safe, they were allowed to text people on it, even those in America where Sam knew some still would target them if they could. They could contact their family without endangering them in the process, their enemies would never have to know.

And in return their siblings sent them pictures of their nieces and nephews, of home that they’d missed so badly that it hurt, it was a physical ache. They sent pictures of their old haunts and favorite restaurants, snapshots of their lives that left Sam aching to be a part of them once more. They went out as a family and sent back pictures, facetimed them during more private family events and tried to convince Sam that this counted as being part of it still.

If they cried, after the fact, then only Steve was there to be their witness.

Nat sent them pictures that were only half a snapshot of her life. Glimpses of a field, with people far in the distance. Books across a table that Sam knew Wanda had loved, confirmation that the girl was safe still and with family. A motorcycle from behind blonde rider's face a mystery, the New York skyline or a desk filled with paperwork, depending on the day. Once in awhile, she gifted them with an outright selfie, pictures of her and their friends, living a life that Sam and Steve could no longer be apart of. It was a reminder they were welcome to be still.

Sharon featured in them outright on occasion, but more often than not she didn’t reply to the pictures Sam sent with more than emojis or the briefest of messages. She was no busier than the others, of course, but Sam was certain from her messages -and Steve’s own insight into her life- that she was afraid of being watched. Still at times they’d talk, she’d send them pictures of food she thought they ought to try, books she thought they should read, her own little ways of saying she was thinking of Sam as much as she did Steve, no matter her fears. 

And very, very rarely, only when Sam was truly desperate, she’d send them pictures of their wings, under guard and locked away, but still safe, still in one piece, at the very least. 

T’Challa was the only other person they text with pictures of the life they were building for themself and his replies were predictable, for the most part. It was pictures of Wakanda, of the city and his office both. He sent back pictures of the gardens at all hours of the day, or their tree on occasion, the flowers Sam had mentioned liking most because they were beautiful and they smelled amazing. It was an echo of the time they’d spent there before, and unlike Sharon and Natasha, he had no reason to be worried, Sam knew. They could talk for hours, with the only interruption being T’Challa’s schedule and the time differences between them.

Sam didn’t let themself have it all the time, certain that they were a bother, that T’Challa was a king with more important things to do than make idle conversation, but it was nice having it as an option. With town so far out, with no neighbors and no travelers, Sam had yet to find anyone else to keep them company during the nights- even if they seldom asked T’Challa to now, unwilling to make the king lose more sleep than he had to. It had to be hard enough, being a king without adding more onto it.

Sam couldn’t bring themself to be a burden, no matter how much they missed the place that had gradually come a safe place for them, and almost a second home. It would be better, to go without, to endure the discomfort and the lonely nights, and trust that their friend would be a little better off for it. He didn’t mention trouble sleeping anymore, after all. They could only hope that was a good sign.

Still, Sam watched the news and the internet for mention of the Avengers, and watched their former team be dragged to a standstill, kept inactive by the Accords. They tried to keep tabs on New York and DC through it, and T’Challa the best they could, even knowing that if something went south, and if they were needed there was little that they’d be able to do.

Sam didn’t like being helpless. But at least they could be informed.

Time passed slowly like this, and for the first time in his life Steve tried to grow a beard -and celebrated when he found out he could. Sam painted their nails, and let themself experiment with makeup and manicure designs, now that there was no longer the risk of being called out on missions, and no chance that someone who’d react poorly would see. They started a garden and Steve picked up photography as a hobby, and for the most part, life was good.

It went like that for another three months. It had been four months since the Accords had been signed. A third of a year, and everything had changed for Sam, though they tried not to think about it.

Together, Sam and Steve built their lives from the ground up in ways they’d both done once already, after the war and after the ice. They set their daily routines once more, focused for the first time in years on each other and themselves instead of the world around them.

Healing had always been a slow process for Sam, and with no one but Steve around, that had never been truer, when they were each other’s main support system. But at least they could begin like this, and that was enough for now. And with just Steve there, there was no need to hide themselves. They understood each other’s hard days, the days they wanted to stay in bed and mourn the lives they’d lost, the days the world and their bodies and the roles they played were too much and they could keep each other steady in it.

And they could build on each other’s happiness, in the little joys that came with starting anew. Short, small ventures into the closest town, keeping their heads low, practicing French with each other with the most ridiculous accents possible. Steve shared his memories from Before, in how France had been there, in his new body that had been better, stronger and still _wrong_ all the same, and the new life that he’d led then. 

They tried not to dwell on the old, but the new, instead. And for the most part it even worked.

It was right when Sam was starting to think that they’d probably never be happy like this- they missed their friends and family too much for that- but that they could be content, when Tony Stark got into touch, because _that_ was how Sam’s life worked now. Steve’s little burner phone lit up with the number of the phone he’d sent Tony and Sam prepared themself for the changes that would come. 

Change always came when life felt most steady.

If Sam was being honest, they’d wanted to run there and then. They’d wanted to bolt, to take cover and go somewhere where the insanity wouldn’t follow them. Steve would come with them, if they pushed hard enough, even if he wouldn’t be happy with it. But at the end of it all, Sam Wilson had never been the kind of person to run, they’d never run from a fight, or from Steve’s side.

Instead they’d stayed where they were at Steve’s side on the couch as he answered the phone. They’d leaned against his shoulder as he’d spoken, moral support and maybe eavesdropping just a little. Tony was in France, because of course he was. Because he’d planned this. The Accords were back under debate. And this time, he thought they’d be a little more in favor of them.

He showed up, two hours later with Natasha at his side and a knot of tension eased in Sam’s chest as they greeted her. Tony had been a teammate, and an acquaintance at best, Sam had mostly been friendly with him because Jim was so fond of him, because he spoke highly of him and made him happy, and Sam respected Jim. There was no more depth to it than that. But Natasha had always been a friend to them. When it came to the people they trusted, she had always been towards the top of the list and how she hugged them tightly told them she felt the same.

No matter how they’d played their hands before, she’d always been on their side, in a way.

“Wish I could say I’m shocked you got involved in all of this too.” Sam teased when she drew away from their embrace, their voice soft and fond as Natasha pressed a kiss to their cheek. “Bout time, you finally got your ass down here to visit.”

“Well maybe, you two should’ve sent an invitation, instead of just making a girl wish she was here.” She broke away from Sam, moved to hug Steve as well pressing a kiss to his cheek, and for a moment Sam could forget all about Tony’s presence. It was just like being home again, in their kitchen with just the three of them, warm and content, the way it should be.

In that moment, the tiny little cottage felt like home in a way it never had before. 

And then Tony spoke up. “Well, as touching as this is, some of us are here on business. We don’t have all the time in the world.” He said dryly, “I’m sure you’re both a little out of practice, but-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam cut Tony off, making their way towards the living room, the only place there was enough space -or seats- for four people to fit. “I don’t do any work til I read the terms and conditions, man. They’ve amended them? Show us how. I ain’t risking The Raft again.”

“Sam,” Steve caught their gaze and Sam held it, unrelenting. Steve’s hand brushed their knee, easy and reassuring, Sam shrugged and just like always, they were in tune. They were allowed to wary, but all the same they would at least listen- they needed to understand what was going on here. If this would allow them to do more good than hiding out in France, if they could do good this way, it might be worth it.

If they could go home again, it would be worth it. 

“One hundred and twenty countries, this time” Tony began as he pulled two thick files from his bag- one for each of them. “After Vienna, after everything-” He broke off there, his gaze dropping with something that looked almost like shame. “They agreed even the UN isn’t infallible.” Steve scoffed at that, looked just a little smug, and Sam elbowed him in response no matter how they agreed with the sentiment. “Are you two going to do this the entire time?”

“Probably. Turns out Cap gets funnier, when he’s your only company for a few months. Makes him easier to agree with” Sam hardly looked at Tony, instead focused on thumbing through the documents in front of him. “Keep talking man, so how’re they doing this?”

“There’s leeway written into it now, allowing for the fact that the two of you, and Rhodes all have military experience, and actual training for what to do when things go to shit.” Sam shook their head at that, bit back the teasing comment that rose on their tongue about Steve’s on the job training, and made themself stay focused. 

“And the fact that we’ve been doing this for long enough that we can normally decide if an event’s going to kill a few thousand people?” Steve remarked dryly, not looking up from the papers. “If something goes south, then, there’s-”

“Well it’d be nice, if some of us could learn to fight without leveling parts of cities. Reducing casualties, all of that. That’s a huge issue they’ve still got, that’s only been circumvented because the Accords never actually dealt with it. Everything that happened let us focus on more than just the damage we’re capable of” Tony countered. “But in short, yes.”

“It falls on us,” Sam said quietly, “The leader of the Avengers, if present. The designated leader per mission otherwise.” A little ominous, they supposed. But not quite the worst thing they could have come up with, either. And the list of people who would deal with the fallout would be short. “Keeps us responsible for our actions, as we should be.”

“Veto power,” Steve added, “If the team thinks it isn’t a mission we should fight. Two-Thirds majority.”

It was all too much to justskim through, and Sam could all but sense that Steve would want to read it all, word for word, probably four or five times. Still, they kept looking through it, intent on absorbing every scrap of information they could while Stark and Natasha were still there. 

“And as for what happened before,” Natasha spoke up, giving Tony a look before she drew out another, smaller stack of papers. “I might’ve had a few long talks with a few very important people.” She sounded smug about it, pleased, and not for the first time, Sam let himself be proud that they’d earned her favor, and her trust. This wasn’t the Black Widow’s doing, but Natasha, for the people she considered family. “No one will be pressing charges for what happened. Your records will be cleared of anything that was put on it when you were well- fugitives. We can’t clear Lang’s record, but he and the others won’t be prosecuted, either.” She paused for just a beat, “Barnes, when he reappears, well…” Steve grimaced and Sam set a hand on his arm. “We’re working on it, still. Do you know where he is?”

“He ran, after Siberia,” Sam cut in without missing a beat, not so much as looking at Steve. They’d discussed this with T’Challa- nobody could know that Wakanda was involved and that meant no one could know he was safe. As far as the rest of the world could know, he was long gone. “We haven’t seen him since. Figure, give it another two years and-”

“Is it a joke to you?” Tony cut in, sounding exhausted. Sam would have felt bad, if the situation wasn't so close to their heart. “Even if he _isn’t_ a criminal, he’s-”

“A guy deserving of some peace and a hell of a lot of therapy. He’s not dangerous, and if you insist he is, we’re done.” Sam interrupted, speaking up where they knew Steve wouldn’t. Steve was too invested in Bucky to stay rational. Sam was maybe a little too invested in keeping Steve and keeping him sane, in keeping everyone far from Wakanda and T'Challa, but at least they wouldn’t snap. “Next question?”

“Who’s signing?” Steve asked in the same moment. A much better change of subject.

“About who you’d expect,” Natasha’s smile was fond, “I don’t think Clint could take the kid’s faces, if he signed this one, he’s out of the game, for good this time. Wanda says she will, but just so that people don’t try to come after her for it. She needs time off. She needs to heal, and will get back in the game when she thinks she can safely.” Sam couldn’t disagree with that, that was for sure and Steve made a quiet, considering sound. “Lang declines joining up. Rhodes and Vision are in, of course. Sharon knows a few people who she thinks might be a good fit, at least on a rotating basis.”

“What are they doing, with the others?” Sam asked gaze lingering on the list of countries that had signed, now. Wakanda was on there. T’Challa had signed, though they suspected that some would argue he counted as enhanced himself and woud need to sign in turn.. Having fought him, and knowing what they did about the Black Panther, Sam couldn’t disagree, but for a moment all Sam could think of was the king with the kind eyes and understanding smile offering them solace when no one else would. He’d seen Sam as more than just a fugitive. It had been too long, since they’d made contact with him and suddenly they ached for it now, they wanted to know what he’d thought, if he’d considered warning them.. “Other enhanced? The spider kid?” Now, it was Tony who looked a little shifty. “People are popping up left and right, last I checked.”

“Registration has proven itself to be the worst of ideas, historically.” Natasha looked to Steve, obviously trying to be reassuring. They both knew from the set of his jaw he was thinking of Before, of his first war and the reason he’d first started fighting. “For now, it’s monitoring. People can live their lives. Do good as they see fit. If someone starts to do too much wrong, if they seem to have ill intent, well….”

“That’s when they call us.” Sam realized. It didn’t sit perfectly well with them, it felt like they’d be used too easily. If someone was deemed dangerous, they would be called in and that was a huge problem in itself, even if they’d have more say in it now. But the thought of home was a tantalizing one. The thought of being able to do what they had been for years, and seeing their family again was enough to make them want to say yes, consequences be damned.. Steve’s hand found their own, kept them grounded and Sam blew out a slow sigh. He was right, they couldn’t rush. “When do you need a decision by?”

“Next week,” Tony looked from Steve to Sam and back again. “Cap, you’ve been uncharacteristically quiet.”

“I’m willing to sign,” Steve said finally, his voice quiet, hardly audible even to Sam. Instinctively Sam leaned into his shoulder, silent but supportive. “But Wanda has the right idea. I’ll agree to the terms, because as a supersoldier I should, and if I ever get back into the thick of things, it’s my duty to set the right example. And I’ll always come to a fight that needs me. But I’m not ready to get back into the battle just yet.”

“What?”

“After everything, Tony. After everything, I’ve finally found something kind of like peace since the war. Why should I give that up?” Steve paused for a moment, fingers steady in Sam’s grip. “I’ve had to do a lot of soul searching, since the last time we saw each other. And honestly? It’s done me a lot of good.” 

“He’s old enough to retire,” Sam remarked dryly, catching Natasha’s eye with an easy grin as they set to easing the mood. Steve hadn’t told them this, but they’d support him in it. It made sense, and they’d seen the tension ease from him as time passed, his recovery slow but more than he’d had while on active duty, at least. “It’s hardly a crime, to finally let the guy.”

“But, I-” Tony floundered for a few moments, obviously struggling to piece his thoughts together, of all the things he’d expected, Sam doubted he’d planned on this. “You don’t want to come back? Tony wasn’t always Sam’s favorite person, but he’d obviously been hoping. He’d been trying and now he was floundering with it, seemingly unsure of what to do with himself. “What are we supposed to tell people, then?”

“That it’s a new age, a new era, and it’s time for someone else to stand for what’s right. I was what the people needed once, I’m not any longer.” Steve shrugged a little, his words coming too easily for a man who’d just thought of this. He’d had a plan, Sam realized, to set everything right if the opportunity ever came. “Tell them I picked my replacement two years ago, when I met the person who inspired the kind of loyalty and faith and strength in me, that I was supposed to be giving to everybody else.” Steve said quietly, gaze sliding to Sam. “That is, if they’re willing to take the job.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Sam muttered under Tony’s strangled sounds of disbelief as he turned to face Steve. “You couldn’t even warn me?”

“I;ve thought about it since before Ultron.” Steve confessed, “I just didn’t want you lecturing me about me not being allowed to die. If something ever happened to me, I just-” His hand was warm in Sam’s, his gaze unrelenting and earnest, honest in a way Sam was pretty sure only Steve Rogers could pull off. “I’d be fine with letting the title rot,” Steve admitted, “It’s not the name, it’s what you do that matters.” He continued. “But we both know it’s not that easy. And _I_ know you’re what they need. Even if half of them don’t deserve you.”

Sam ignored Tony in the background asking Natasha if she felt like she was hearing this too as they regarded Steve carefully, just letting themself take in the sight of their best friend. They’d followed Steve to countless countries, and into more trouble than they’d ever planned on, after their first run. They would have followed him to hell and back, because that was what the two of them did. Steve would have followed him them, always, had followed their lead plenty of times.

The thought of having that ability now, of being the one who would lead their friends and teammates was a daunting one. But Sam had been half-leading the Avengers for the past year, anyways. They knew the job well, they knew they’d earned Steve’s trust, and if given the chance would earn that trust from everyone. 

And they knew what the title meant. It wasn’t that Captain America, that _Steve_ was anything special, all things considered. He was a super soldier, of course. But that had never been what defined his position, at least not in Steve’s mind. Sam knew his history, that he’d been chosen for his heart, because he’d had the strength to be himself when it had never been more difficult. He’d been chosen because though he was stupid and reckless at times, Steve was determined above all else. Steve had always fought the battles he thought were important, no matter how big or small they were, or how outnumbered he was, whether the battle was against one man or a thousand.

They did what was right, even if it was three against the entirety of SHIELD and Hydra both. Even if it was two against an entire Hydra base, overrun with agents. When it was one person against armed guards, exhausted and starving, battered and bruised and still defiant because they were the last line of defense, and the battle wasn’t over yet. Steve saying this was reminding Sam he’d never doubted them.

“Steve,” Sam said quietly, looking their friend over slowly. “It ain’t fair, making me emotional.”

Steve snorted quietly at that, nudging Sam a little. “That’s not a no. What do you say? Continue the tradition of jumping into an officer position to take up the mantle? You already know how to handle the Shield.”

“And we got the marks buffed out of it,” Tony offered, finally collecting himself and drawing Sam and Steve from the moment that they’d shared. Sam looked to him only reluctantly, frowning a little. “It’s the suit and shield that make it, isn’t it? We can get you fitted before we make the announcement and-”

“I need a new shield,” Sam was hardly aware of the words as they spoke. Their mind jumped back again instead to T’Challa in the gardens, the light of a lantern cast over his features as he spoke of the Black Panther’s duty to protect his people, an explanation in part to why he'd done what they had, and why they'd lived as they had. Sam had learned much in those nights, about the king himself, the nation, and what vibranium meant. Protecting Wakanda was so much more than just guarding its people. “I won’t use that one.”

“What the fuck do you-”

“The Shield was made of stolen vibranium,” Sam reminded the others quietly, voice low but stern. “And I get that, it made sense for your dad to use it from a strictly professional, moralless standpoint.” The sound Tony made at the words was undignified and offended. Sam could admit they deserved that, maybe. “Who stole it doesn’t matter, what matters is the act itself. It belongs to Wakanda.”

“Politically speaking,” Natasha cut in, her gaze darting from Sam’s face to Steve’s, and then back again. Sam hoped she couldn’t read what had happened in either of their expressions, but her eyes went soft. She didn’t need to know, to side with them over this. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea. Especially with Wakanda as a potential ally now. A good gesture to make, that could earn us a little favor with the king.”

“It sounds like a good way to get yourself killed,” Tony protested, “Nothing that anyone comes up with, it’s not gunna compare to vibranium, right? You’ll be more vulnerable than Cap ever was. Without the serum to back you up.”

“It’s a risk I’ll have to take,” Sam said softly, “Let me send back the shield. You make me a new one, that’ll compare the best you can. And then I’ll think about signing.” They waved the files a little at Tony, a reminder that they had only just begun. “That’s my condition.”

“Then you better get reading, Cap.” Already Tony was pulling out a tablet, his brow creased in concentration. “Looks like we’ve all got work to do.”

*******  
In the end, Sam’s new shield was made just as they’d asked, an alloy of metals that they didn’t necessarily understand, but that Tony had promised was the strongest he could make it. Rhodes had backed him up on it, had promise they’d had every person they could on the job. It wasn’t vibranium, couldn’t compare to it, sure. But it would fend off everyone else, and that was what mattered most. The old shield was retired then, wrapped up and packaged out, and Sam was left with the promise that it would get to Wakanda safely.

Steve had joked about painting the new shield, red-white-and-blue color scheme be damned. He’d confessed that he’d thought about it every year, right around the time pride month started going through. He’d thought about using the shield to remind people of who he was at his core, that he was more than their dancing monkey.

And Sam thought about it, if they were being honest. It would be worth it for the both of them to remind everyone about all that they were. It would be good, they thought, to remind everyone that the hero named after their country had always been trans, and rub that in the face of a handful of politicians they wanted out of office.

It would have made things lighter, at least. Easier, bearing a shield with a flag they could stand by instead of one they still questioned on the daily. But that was part of the job too, they supposed. To stand for America and what it should be, even if that wasn’t what it was in that moment, to remind people of what they could become.

So instead they’d kept the paint job and changed the suit design just a little. Tony had redesigned and repainted the wings, and Sam figured that would have to be enough. Sam was Captain America now, and once they signed the New Accords it would be official.

All they had to do was survive the meeting of the UN to get there. Sam had flown in to Geneva with Steve early that morning, Natasha at their side and they’d been fighting off something close to panic ever since. They’d gotten to their rooms -Steve and Sam shared one, Natasha got hers all to herself- and gotten ready. And now they were there.

Sam had always felt confident in a suit and tie, but in that moment they felt out of their element. They hadn’t done this in so long, after all and all Sam could think of was all the eyes on them, people who watched them and Steve both, judging, unable and unwilling to understand why they’d done what they had. They’d been outcasts of a sort before, but now? The rift between them and those surrounding them seemed impossible to breach.

They weren’t criminals, they weren’t fugitives anymore, but the trust that they’d built up once would have to be earned again. That was a part of the job too now, they supposed.

So as much as Sam wanted to lie low and let the politicians do what they did, they made themself mingle. There were world leaders to reassure that their morals had never wavered, that they were the best for the job, and that Captain America was still to be trusted even if their face had changed. 

Sam was exhausted by it, and telling Steve just as much without an ounce of shame. “I don’t think we thought this through, man. That’s all I’m saying. I’m done, I’m out. I totally, completely-”

“Sam, take a deep breath,” Steve’s touch was brief, his fingers just barely brushing along their back. “You’ve got this, okay? We’ve got this.”

“When this is all said and done, you get to run away and tour the country. See the sights, be young again.” Sam pointed out dryly. “I’m just. Realizing what it means, to take your damn job, man.”

“And we both know you’ll do a much better job than I ever did,” Steve’s smile was easy, relaxed, his eyes full of an unbridled affection and trust for Sam. “You’ll learn to be their dancing monkey. Just give it time.”

“Least we both know I’m a better dancer than you.” They both laughed at that, and Sam felt the knot of tension in their chest ease a little. They were Captain America, now. They could do anything. And it helped, having amazing friends at their backs.

Someone else called out ‘Captain’, far closer than Sam had realized anyone moving near them was, and coming closer. Steve looked over Sam’s shoulder, likely because he’d always respond to the title.

Sam turned purely because they recognized the sound of the voice.

T’Challa looked good in his suit, they thought as they faced the king completely. It was fit to his form perfectly, obviously well made, and of finer fabric than anyone else’s in the room. The king moved closer to them with a confidence Sam had been trying to muster all day, his shoulders held high. They could only imagine eyes had been on him all day, knew people had been talking about him for months, but T’Challa looked completely confident, at ease, at first glance.

And then Sam found themself picking out the little things that told them he wasn’t. It was all in the haunted look in his eyes, the edge of a shadow beneath them, the tension in his shoulders and set of his jaw Sam hadn’t seen for months.

“Your highness,” Sam bowed, made themself remember they were in public. They couldn’t let on that they’d ever seen T’Challa before outside of the man trying to kill them. No one could know of the nights they’d spent together. Still, for just a moment they were unsure of themself. It had been months since they’d seen each other last, communication had been far between, for the both of them. Part of that -okay, most of that- was on Sam and they hoped the king didn’t hold it against him.

But when they met T’Challa’s gaze and held it it was a little like no time had passed. For a moment it was as though they were alone, the safety of the darkness and the gardens around them. Once there had been nothing to hide, when they were near the king, it was strange to realize there was now asT’Challa reached for Sam for a handshake that felt almost foreign when they could still recall how comfortable they’d been before..

It was Sam who dropped their gaze first, smiling just a little at the king and doing all they could to give away nothing of how they felt as they shook hands. The last thing they needed was to give anything away, not when they were about to be under a ridiculous amount of scrutiny and so many were critical of T’Challa still. “Much better to see you now, than the last time we did. How have you been?”

“Just fine,” A little lie, Sam knew, confirmed it with how T’Challa’s gaze dropped, just a fraction. Geneva was no easier on him than Vienna would have been, that was for sure. “I hope you don’t mind my coming over. But rumor has it congratulations are in order.”

“Dunno about that, it’s the first day on the job, and technically that hasn’t even started yet. I feel like congratulations gotta wait until I actually do something.”

“I’m almost certain that that isn’t how that works,” T’Challa’s gaze moved to Steve then, his smile still on his features. “ And congratulations on your retirement as well. Do you have any plans for it?”

Steve laughed a little fingers running through his hair, “Travel,” He said without missing a beat, “Sam gets to do all the work now. I’m gunna- I don’t know. Hit up a beach. See the sights. Everything on my bucket list.” He nudged a little at Sam, his expression easy and fond, “They’ll blow everyone away so much no one will even remember little old me.”

“From what I’ve seen, I don’t doubt that,” T’Challa’s voice was low, nearly inaudible and Sam knew it was to prevent anyone else from overhearing. “I mean no offense, of course. They’re simply something else-”

“You two keep on talking, you’re great for my ego.” Sam decided, nudging Steve a little as they cut him off. They could apologize for it later, when Sam could focus on the compliments they were being paid in peace, and be near the king as they wanted. They wanted to be just a little closer to him, wanted to be alone again so they could have the easy closeness of before. They wanted T’Challa to tell them if he thought they were crazy, if it was worth the risk. And Sam wanted to know if T’Challa was okay, a conversation they couldn’t have somewhere like this. “I’m keeping you around, for when the politics get to be too much.”

“We could only be so lucky,” T’Challa’s gaze met their own and this time Sam held it. Steve cleared his throat a little but Sam ignored him for the moment, all thoughts of pushing things off briefly forgotten. T’Challa had missed them too, then and that left Sam’s chest full of warmth and fondness.

“Could let me be a little lucky in return then,” The words came without thought and T’Challa raised a brow, a small smirk touching his features. “How long are you going to be in the city? Wouldn’t mind seeing you for a little more. Somewhere not… Here.”

“I leave tomorrow evening. There’s a few things I was hoping to do, while I was here. You could join me?” Natasha called for Sam as she approached and they tried not to sigh at the thought of leaving a conversation they actually enjoyed, all for the sake of another potician they wouldn’t remember the face or name of. “Ariana Park, if you’d like? Not quite gardens, but well...”

“Close enough, for now. “ Sam agreed, working to remember the guides they’d skimmed of it. “Meet me by the sphere, yeah? And try not to get chased off by the peacocks. I feel like if you get beaten up by some birds, I’m gunna get the blame for it.”

Natasha was getting too close now, too much for Sam to risk moving even a step closer to T’Challa. It was enough, to keep the warmth of his smile in their mind as they drew away, intercepting Natasha before she could reach the king. There were more politicians still to impress, and soon the New Accords would be ratified officially. So Sam let her tuck their hand in her own, made themself focus on her words as she gave them a rundown of the next politician on their list.

They didn’t let themself look back at T’Challa as Steve bid the king a farewell.

But If Sam was looking forward to the coming evening more than anything else that day? They figured no one would blame them.

*******

The politics and posturing, even after the signing of the New Accords took long enough that by the time they were finally free to retreat to their hotel room with Steve, Sam was exhausted. They half regretted their offer to meet with T’Challa that night, no matter how good it had been to see him again, no matter how they wanted to be close again.

Rest was what they wanted most. The ability to be alone and decompress, instead of trying to figure out how well they’d handled the pressure of it all.

And yet, Sam had stayed awake plenty of times before, just for that very reason. It seemed only fitting, to manage a few extra hours for him when they’d missed each other so. It would be difficult, dragging themself out of the room, but worth it to see the king again, to catch up properly without worrying about eavesdroppers and public opinions.

Steve was off anyways, claiming that he wanted to go explore the city. Somehow, Sam didn’t doubt that, but they knew Steve better than that. And, it helped that they’d caught a glimpse of Sharon that evening as the convention wore to a close, working judging by her uniform. It wouldn’t shock them, if their friends were taking advantage of their time in the same city, just as T’Challa and Sam were doing. Natasha had headed off somewhere as well, dressed in a sleek red dress when she’d stopped off at the room and promised to see Sam in the morning.

Something told Sam both of their friends would have a more exciting night than their own. But Sam found they couldn’t be jealous of it, when they’d be meeting with T’Challa again.

They were comfortable like this, in the steadily growing darkness, the air still warm and the park itself quiet as people retreated to homes and hotels for the night. It was easy, finding the right area, and though some people still lingered, it felt secluded enough. It felt comfortable as they settled onto a bench to wait, toying absentmindedly with the bracelets they wore.

“I hope I didn’t make you wait long,” Sam would never get used to how T’Challa could move so quietly, his presence silent in the darkness. This time, when Sam stood it wasn’t to bow, or to apologize as they had the first time they’d met like this. Instead they gave themself just a moment to appreciate the sight of T’Challa in a pair of slacks and a dark green shirt that he still managed to pull off as well as he had his suit earlier Sam almost would have felt underdressed in jeans and their own, flowing shirt if T’Challa’s gaze hadn’t lingered just a little.

“Lucky you, you’re normally pretty worth the wait,” Sam teased as they approached, more relaxed now than before. Out here, the odds of anyone seeing them, or realizing who they were, were slim. T’Challa laughed, his hand coming to rest briefly on Sam’s shoulder when they were finally close enough to each other. “It’s good to see you again.”

“We just saw each other,” Still, T’Challa’s expression was more at ease than it had been that afternoon, his expression open in a way that Sam had missed as they just drank each other in for a few long moments.

“Doesn’t count, when I gotta act like I didn’t spend a month eating your food and sleeping in your damn palace and bothering you every night.” Sam shook their head a little, made themself draw away and T’Challa followed, staying in their space just as Sam was hoping he would.

“Funny, I seem to remember seeking you out first. That doesn’t sound much like someone who was bothering me.”

“Well, I am amazing company.” Sam allowed, caught between teasing and flattered “Though you should know, I couldn’t find a cat good enough to replace you. So you’re still my favorite.”

“An honor I’ll cherish for years to come, I assure you.” Sam knocked their shoulder against T’Challa’s at the sarcasm in his voice, “You had my number,” T’Challa added, voice quiet, “You could have text more if you’d wanted to, to make up for failing to find my replacement. Or called.” He didn't sound angry, at least. But Sam knew in that moment he'd missed them, too.

“It’s not the same,” Came the immediate dismissal, “Though thank you, for letting me know my favorite flowers are in bloom. I mis them.” Sam shrugged, just a little, dismissive. “And you’ve got kingly things to do. I didn’t want to be a bother, when you’ve already got a ton going on. I figured, once in awhile, so you couldn’t forget me. It was enough.”

“And yet you have- Captainly things to do now,” T’Challa said, stumbling over the words just a little, though Sam didn’t call him out on it. “Would you want your friends to be in touch any less?”

Sam opened their mouth to reply but said nothing, instead opting to scowl T’Challa. “I like my life more when I’m the logical friend. Its much more fun than this.”

“No one can be right all the time,” T’Challa pointed out quietly, nudging Sam gently. “It’s just part of what makes us human.”

Sam was quiet for a few long moments, just watching T’Challa out of the corner of their eye. “You’re right, of course.” There was a moment where Sam wanted to reach out, to close the distance between their hands, that they thought better of after a moment. They weren’t completely alone, and it wasn’t three in the morning with the excuse of sleep deprivation to make things easier. A subject change, at least, was more familiar for the hour. “No one can be okay all the time, either, y’know. Are you actually holding up alright? You weren’t convincing, earlier.”

“I thought we were here to celebrate your promotion and signing of The Accords. Not to talk about my- Everything.”

“I’m a talented person, I know how to multitask.” Sam’s fingers brushed T’Challa’s arm as they shifted closer to him. “I’m real good at worrying about my friends, for what it’s worth. It’s just a hazard of getting close to me.”

“I suppose I’ll have to take my chances with you. And I’m fine. The nights are long, but they’re manageable.” T’Challa looked to Sam, “Perhaps, now that we’ve established you’re not a bother I could have a little company…”

T’Challa trailed off and there was nothing Sam could do but take his hand in response, nerves be damned. They were unable to miss the longing they’d felt for the past few months mirrored in T’Challa’s voice, the flicker of hope in his eyes. “I think I could manage a call or two, or ten. Some texts, once in awhile. I gotta show you the compound, after all.” Sam laughed a little, nervous despite themself. “Besides. I sense more late nights, in my future. Early mornings too”

“Certainly you’re not in the field that often? Especially not now.” 

“Nah, not really. Missions are only part of it and honestly, you’re right, they’re kind of a smaller part, now.. But it’s a lot- I gotta lead the team, officially now, which is politics and diplomacy as much as it is beating up the bad guys. And there’s a lot of pressure on me, for it. Steve’s got some big shoes to fill. And yeah. I’ve done it all before. But everything’s different now. I’m different now.”

“I know the feeling,” T’Challa agreed, his voice quiet and sympathetic. “It’s overwhelming, stepping into something like this. And I know first hand. How they watch you, the judgement they passed based on what they think they know of you.” T’Challa grimaced, his fingers brushing briefly against Sam’s arm. “But he chose you for a reason. I suspect he has many. I can think of quite a few, off the top of my head.”

Sam had to pause at that, the earnest tone of T’Challa’s voice enough to catch them off guard. The last thing they’d expected was a compliment quite like that. “Thank you. It helps, knowing someone else believes in me.”

“Anyone with sense should have faith in you.” T’Challa insisted quietly, “They’re lucky to have you on their side, and representing them. T’Challa huffed a low laugh at the words, looking sideways at Sam, “I think we’re more alike than most think. Both protectors of our people, defined by our countries and what others expect of us, how they see us. What they think we should be.”

T’Challa didn’t finish, but Sam could all but sense the words unspoken between them. Neither of them had chosen this for themself. They’d both inherited the position from someone they loved. And Sam had no doubts about why it was so close to T’Challa’s chest at the moment. They weren’t in Vienna. But Sam suspected that didn’t mean anything at all. They both knew what had happened at a meeting just like this.

“Well, guess we’ll have to keep up the similarities, make the people who we followed proud.” Sam said after a few moments’ pause. “With everything that you’ve done, and everything I’m planning to do so far.” They nodded, just a little at that to themself, unsure of which one of them exactly they were trying to convince. Considering the burden Sam was beginning to feel already, and what he knew T’Challa dealt with, Sam thought they both needed it, and the vote of confidence the other offered, probably. “We’ll be just fine, T’Challa. I’m sure of it.”

“And until we hit that point, I suppose we’re just going to endure more sleepless nights together?” The question came, T’Challa’s voice a little lighter than before, edged with the barest hint of teasing instead of old grief, and Sam knew that he was doing his best to hide what he felt. They only wished he didn’t feel the need to.

“We’ll be able to keep each other company,” Sam agreed. “I told you before, man. I’ve got your back. It’s what friends are for. I’m sorry, if I was slacking on it, since we saw each other last.”

“You’re fine. And I know,” T’Challa’s hand was still in his own, warm and strong in his own. Sam thought maybe they should let go, as fond as they’d been of each other, as close as they’d gotten, they’d never quite lingered like this before. But the contact was comfortable, different than it was with Steve, and not something Sam wanted to give up. “I got the message, when I received the shield.”

“Yeah well,” Sam toyed idly with the necklace they wore, fingers twisting the cord, “I know how to listen, when someone’s saying something real important. I pay attention, T’Challa. And I figured. Maybe if I got lucky, they’d listen too.”

“It means more than you know,” T’Challa said quietly. ”To me as a king, of course. But as a man as well. To say the least, your first act as Captain America cemented my loyalty to you, if not to your people.”

“I wasn’t Cap when I made the decision,” Sam pointed out, “And I didn’t do it for loyalty from you or anyone else. I was already the best thing around anyways.” Sam nudged T’Challa a little, and the king bumped back into him, “I did it because it was right. Because I want to do right by you as my friend first, and as a king second.”

“I imagine your friends weren’t happy?” T’Challa sounded amused by that, “Most have no idea, after all.”

“Just a shame I didn’t give any old assholes a heart attack with the announcement, I suppose.” T’Challa laughed, quiet and fond at that. “Politically it makes sense. Nobody can complain about making our countries better allies. And I can stay true to myself, to what’s right. To you.”

“Spoken like Captain America,” T’Challa’s eyes were bright in the darkness around them, “You’ll settle into the job just fine.” 

“And if I need a little help with the diplomacy thing? Politicians and the like? Not punching people, when they piss me off.” Sam grimaced as they spoke, “Think I might have a friend in high places willing to help talk me through it?”

“I might be able to manage it,” T’Challa allowed, still lingering close. “But only if we get lunch tomorrow, before I leave the city. You’ve got to make it worth my while.”

Sam couldn’t help but laugh, squeezing T’Challa’s hand lightly and flashing the king a small smile.. “I think I can manage that. But this time, it’s my treat. You’ve already dne enough for me. And I want to treat you..” They paused for a moment, considering their companion. “And y’know, If you don’t got plans tonight, we could hang out for old time’s sake. Between you and me, I don’t wanna go back to my room, if Steve’s bringing Sharon back. How much do you like me, again?”

The words were true, but there was more to it, they both knew. Sam just didn’t like the thought of T’Challa being alone, if he was already feeling vulnerable. The look the other man gave him certainly said he suspected as much. “For old time’s sake,” He said quietly, slowly pulling Sam along, and just a little closer to him. “There’s nothing I’d like more.”

*******

The return to the States was, above all else, boring despite the fact that Sam had been a fugitive less than a month ago. There was more fanfare than they’d ever wanted in the three days between the signing and their return to the compound. There was a press conference in DC that felt like it aged them a lifetime and then, finally, Sam was allowed to go home.

Or at least, somewhere close to it.

The compound felt too empty to count as home now, without Wanda and Steve around. The former, Sam was pretty sure was hiding out on Clint’s farm, laying low and letting the peace and quiet do it’s part for her in the same way Sam had done in France. Steve had hugged Sam as tightly as possible, but left from DC on his motorcycle, intent on exploring the country himself, with his newfound free time. Sam missed him like hell, but they text often enough that they could almost pretend nothing had changed.

But with the compound half empty now, Sam couldn’t help but feel lonely, hidden away in upstate New York. Things felt painfully stilted around Rhodey between the guilt and the way things had gone down even before the Accords had been signed. And though they were on better terms with Tony now, Sam still felt a little like they had on the Raft, unsure of everything about him outside of his devotion to Jim. 

Natasha was there, at least for the most part. There were days when she slipped away and Sam had a feeling she was doing something for SHIELD still, just quieter than before.Natasha offered no details, and so Sam didn’t ask anything about any new equipment, or Sharon’s occasional presence, unsure of if it was for work or pleasure. Natasha trusted them with her life and more, but Sam knew how spies worked, too.

And so, unsure of where they stood half the time with their teammates, Sam focused on the missions they’d yet to be assigned and how to best prepare for them. Days were spent planning out potential maneuvers and then putting them into practice, adjusting to the loss of Wanda’s powers, of Steve’s strength and the changes they’d all undergone in the past few months.

They were a team in theory and on the books, they just had to figure out how to act like it.

The first mission came a month after Sam took over the team, and despite their worries it went easily. Their teamwork wasn’t what it had been before, _they_ felt different, but they’d worked at it long enough that it was manageable. 

It wasn’t the easily controlled situations in training, there were no simulations, no opportunities to regroup, to take a break and talk things out. But it was a success on all fronts, and Sam knew that on the heels of what had happened in Vienna, Berlin and Siberia, it was a blessing. It was a sign that there was hope for them still.

One mission became two, a month later came a third, and Sam let themself revel in the slow victories. They felt like a team again, more and more every time they went into the field, and Sam savored the reality that they hadn’t lost everything after what had happened with the Accords. Life was hard, they still had their awkward moments and they suspected there would always be strain there Sam was sure. But the team made things work, and as long as they kept getting better Sam would be grateful.

There were interviews, of course, the same thing Sam knew T'Challa had indured when he'd become king, that Steve had handled when they'd realized he was alive. People who wanted to talk about Sam, how they felt stepping into Steve’s position, the politics of the country and their opinions on the UN and the Accords. There were others who wanted information for sensationalist pieces and gossip magazines, who wanted Sam to talk about their personal life, their life’s experience, all for a little entertainment. People wanted insight into the Avengers, into how the return of Thor, of Bruce and the addition of the Spider-Kid -and Sam suspected, why he only showed up on the occasional weekend.

Sam dealt with them all with as much grace as they could.

There were meetings with government officials and military leaders as well, and Sam was struck again by how much of the job was diplomacy now, convincing everybody that enhanced individuals weren’t a danger to anybody at all. In the same way they tried to keep the general population safe, it felt a lot like that was how they’d keep others safe. Sam made themself a champion for the cause, used their position to speak out the best they could, to offer insight into situations that they were slowly realizing few were actively prepared for.

Sam had found their footing though, they knew what to say now and how to handle what the job demanded of them both on and off the field. They still had plenty of people on standby, because Steve knew the job and Jim knew the military and had _rank_ and they were both a blessing for it. T’Challa was always available for the late-night calls that kept Sam sane, trading stories about their days, helping Sam breathe easy again as much as he offered advice and sympathy.

Despite all their assistance, Sam started to feel like they didn’t need the help. They were learning to read politicians and strangers as well as they could their team and for the most part Sam thought they were doing well in rebuilding all that they’d lost before. 

Because being an Avenger hadn’t been quite like this before. There had still been the edge of something missing, though it was world’s better than life after their discharge, or even DC. Life wasn’t perfect, not yet at least but Sam was enjoying it anyways, the knowledge they were doing good again, they were making a difference in the lives of as many people as possible. And they were doing it for so many more people than before.

It was only better, that they were still capable of holding on to at least a little of the peace that they’d found in France. It wasn’t quite safe, being a superhero, not in the way hiding in the countryside had been. But bit by bit, Sam was finding their balance between battles and peace, the duty they’d sworn themselves to and the life that they wanted to live.

The doubt was still there, at times. The fear that they wouldn’t be enough, that it would all slip away and they would lose it once more.

But they were building on the foundation they’d built now more than ever. For the first time in years, Sam could rest, they could relax and believe that it wouldn’t crumble away.

*****  
A text from T’Challa came late in the evening in early March and on the surface, there was nothing strange about it. Sam had gotten used to it, knew it meant he was awake well into the early hours of the morning and seeking company. It was unusual only because it was an invitation. Hed be coming to New York on business in the coming weeks and wanted to know if Sam could meet with him while he was.

Really, there was no way for them to say no to that. It was the best kind of change from brief meetups when they were in countries close enough to swing it. And it was worlds better than relying on technology to keep in touch when they could see T’Challa in person and not feel the longing to be able to reach out and touch him.

It only seemed right for Sam to insist they meet somewhere other than the compound, though. It was home, but not the one Sam wanted to show the king, not after everything they’d been through. Instead they gave T’Challa the address of a cafe in Harlem, promising to meet up with him after T’Challa’s meetings were done for the day. DC had been good, the compound was home now, but even after everything Harlem would always be home in their heart and they wanted to share that with T’Challa. 

It was a good excuse, to hang out with Gideon for the day while they waited for T’Challa to be free, catching up and playing with his kids and enjoying being a family again. It was just a little difficult, not letting on just what they were waiting for, or why they were in the city though. It was one thing, for their siblings to know Sam knew a king, that they’d spent plenty of time among royalty.

It was just a little different, explaining how they’d become so close. Sam didn’t know if they could have that conversation without their brother reading them like a book. 

When T’Challa was finally free, Sam hugged their brother as tightly as they could, promising they’d be back as soon as they could. They felt lighter already, just from the day together and felt like they were flying without their wings, with the knowledge they’d see T’Challa again. 

It was a short trip, an easy one, and still, somehow T’Challa beat him them there. He was dressed down, for T’Challa at least, looking comfortable and relaxed in a pair of jeans and a comfortable looking jacket as he waited outside of the cafe. For a moment Sam could only focus on the lines of his body, two cups of coffee in hand, and then T’Challa’s gaze caught their own, and all Sam could think about was how his eyes lit up at Sam’s approach.

“Thank you for coming,” It hit Sam a little too hard at the sight of T’Challa, just how much they’d missed him. It didn’t matter in that moment that they’d spoken to him plenty over text and their phones, that they’d stayed up late and woken up early, talking at all hours of the day and night. It didn’t matter that they’d been getting closr and closer over the past few months, no matter the physical distance.

Because even pictures and video chatting couldn’t capture the warmth of T’Challa’s easy smile. It couldn’t capture how his eyes shone as he pushed off the wall and Sam moved into it, reaching for T’Challa without though. The hug was brief but firm, and it was more difficult than Sam would ever admit, to let him go when they drew away.

“I feel like that should be my line,” Sam said without missing a beat, “You’re on my turf now, Chesire. And right where I wanted you to be, too.” T’Challa raised a brow, looking unimpressed as took their drink. T’Challa had remembered how they took their coffee and that made Sam feel that much warmer. “It’s a lot easier for me to get here than you, y’know.”

“I suppose I should be grateful that business brought me to the City, then. And that you had the free time to see me.” 

“You should’ve known I’d make time for you.” Sam squeezed T’Challa’s arm as they began to walk. “That’s kinda what we’ve been doing since day one, if you haven’t noticed. Weird meetings at weird times. This is what? The third time we’ve hung out that it’s been daylight out?”

And even then Sam knew the sun would set soon. The air was already cool, a sign that though the weather was starting to warm it wasn’t quite spring just yet, and the sky above them was cloudy. It was peaceful, in Sam’s opinion, and only moreso because they had T’Challa at their side.

“I don’t know if this quite counts as daylight. I’m sure within the hour-”

“Yeah, but this is New York,” Sam countered, light still., “You’re in the city that never sleeps now, man. So sure, maybe it won’t be light out, but it’s gotta count for something.”

The words made T’Challa laugh again, bright and easy and Sam was a little struck all over again by how lucky they were to be the source of it. For a moment they let themself savor it, the easy closeness between them, the way that they could fall into step by T’Challa as though no time had passed since they’d last seen each other. Being with T’Challa felt more and more natural, every time and as he began to speak, telling Sam of what he’d seen in New York so far, they were content just to listen to the cadence of his voice. 

It made it just a little harder to say goodbye, more difficult to go long periods of time without seeing him, no matter how necessary it was. Since the beginning there had been a certain kind of longing when it came to T’Challa, a feeling of normalcy and understanding between them. T’Challa was one of the few people out there who understood their grief, the responsibility on their shoulders, the struggle between who they were and the life they led, in a way that only Steve had known before. Sam could be themself around him completely and without guard, and they could only hope T’Challa felt the same about them.

“You’re thinking too hard,” T’Challa’s voice drew them from their thoughts and Sam ducked their head just a little at the words, sheepish despite themself. They’d lost track of themself, of time, keeping to T’Challa’s side as they moved together and trusting him not to let them run into trouble or walk into traffic. It was hard to tell how long had passed, Sam just knew they were approaching a park now, and it was easy to keep walking towards it. “I could have sworn the purpose of coming out here was to relax.”

“I am relaxed, more than I’ve been in a while,” Sam promised, their shoulder bumping against T’Challa’s lightly, reassuring. “You’re pretty good for me like that.” It was T’Challa’s turn then, to duck his head his smile growing as they spoke. “I’m only thinking about good things, I promise.” 

“Anything in particular?”

‘You’, Sam wanted to say, and for a moment they thought about doing it- it would be easy. T’Challa would understand what Sam meant, he’d know why it meant so much, if Sam could just explain it right. “I’m comfortable, like this.” They said quietly, “It’s real easy, when I see you. Remembering everything I’ve been handed so far. And realizing that things are good, now. That I’m good now,”

“You deserve it,” The warmth in T’Challa’s voice was quiet but with the kind of conviction that took Sam off guard, even now after months of hearing it. It was special, knowing it was directed at them. “After everything this past year. You deserve so much, Sam. I’m just glad you can finally have peace again.”

“Hey now, you deserve it too,” Sam insisted quietly. “I told you, I listen. And you deserve this too, T’Challa. As much as any of the rest of us. Maybe more than some.”

“Flattery,” But T’Challa was smiling at them still, his eyes soft and expression unguarded. “Some would say you’re biased.”

“I say I’ve just got sense. Besides, haven’t you learned already, T’Challa? I’m always right. Even if I am biased.”

“Sam.”

“Sylvester.”

“Tweety.”

A surprised laugh escaped Sam at the words as they stopped, turning to face T’Challa. There were plenty of people around still, but to Sam, the only one who mattered was the man at their side. “You’re catching on, I was waiting for you to get there.”

“Oh is that all you were waiting for? And here I thought I was sparing you from your own sense of humor. My apologies, truly.” Amusement shone in T’Challa’s eyes, and Sam shoved at him, trusting that no one else would pay them any mind. No one was even looking at them- after all, would expect a king and an Avenger here? “It’s such a shame, to have kept you waiting.”

“And here, I was thinking about forgiving you. Why you gotta ruin it with insults, Garfield?”

“The look on your face was worth it,” T’Challa’s gaze hadn’t left their face at all, and for a moment Sam wondered what he saw..Between the easy jokes and the laughter, there was something more in that moment, the way that there always had been. It was something more than just the understanding of two leaders, of two soldiers who had been broken and healed again, who had fought their way past their demons time and time again. In the end, they’d helped each other win their battles.

It was longing, Sam thought, flashing back to the night in Geneva, how they’d missed him then. Distance made the heart grow fonder, and even then they’d noticed how hard it had hit. Being with T’Challa had become easy, it was natural, something they wanted even when they couldn’t have it, not because T’Challa made life easy. He just helped in make sense.

It only made sense to want more.

“The look on my face,” Sam repeated quietly, smiling just a little as they shifted closer. T’Challa shifted into them just a little, welcoming Sam into his space and Sam made themself breathe through the rush of nerves as they reached out to cup T’Challa’s jaw. “What about the look on yours?”

And then they were kissing him.

It started as slow as Sam could make it, forcing themself to hold onto at least a little composure when they wanted to do anything but. T’Challa was warm under their hands, his body lean and strong, and he was kissing Sam back, one hand curling at the back of Sam’s neck to keep them there as if Sam could ever bring themself to stop this.

When they finally had to pull away, T’Challa looked about as dazed as Sam felt, his eyes wide and breath coming just hard enough that Sam knew he was affected. Sam could sympathize, one kiss was nothing, maybe, but it felt like more, like it had been too long coming.

It quickly turned into another as T’Challa dragged him closer again. The world around them didn’t matter in that moment, and Sam could only hope that they’d both be written off and ignored. For just a moment they could be a pair of too-handsy New Yorkers, making out a little in the park like they were teenagers.

And when they could finally stop, calming down slowly and just breathing each other in, Sam pressed a final, soft kiss to T’Challa’s cheek. The sun had set around them, the streets lit up by the dim light of street lamps, business windows and signs in the distance, still open and inviting. But Sam’s focus was on T’Challa alone as he took the other man’s hand, threading their fingers together slowly. 

They were used to T’Challa’s eyes on them, warm and fond. But now he was looking at Sam they were something special, more unguarded than before as warm fingers ran over Sam’s sides.

“This wasn’t my intention,” He confessed, “When I asked you to meet me. But I’ve wanted to do this for longer than you know.”

“Yeah?” Sam was shameless, their gaze dropping for just a moment to T’Challa’s lips. “Well then, guess we better make up for lost time, shouldn’t we?” Despite the words Sam was slow to move, and unwilling to part from the king. Instead they let their fingers run up T’Challa’s side, just to see him shiver and shifted just a little closer, resting their foreheads, together. “You’re here for a few days, right?”

“Not nearly long enough,” T’Challa murmured, his lips finding Sam’s again, fingers curling in the fabric of their shirt to keep them close. Sam couldn’t blame him- but he didn’t he’d want to move away and time soon, either. “But, do you think your team can spare you until I have to leave?”

Sam could only smile against the king’s skin at that. “C’mon, man. Nothing could make me leave you, until then. I’m all yours.”

****

There was once a time Sam had been certain they’d never find peace. It had felt impossible, Riley’s loss too fresh, their own body and soul aching and broken from physical and emotional turmoil both. It had been a struggle to make it through the day, let alone a week, to keep their head up, to push on when all felt lost.

It had been harder to find a future in the rubble of their life, to claw their way up once more, and to help people in turn. Slowly, they’d managed to find their niche once more. They’d managed to find quiet, they’d found solace then in DC, far from the life they’d once known.

But even then life had been lacking. It hadn’t been quite the life they’d imagined for themself, and it was something that Sam hadn’t understood completely until Steve gave them the chance to fly once more.

Peace was a relative term, now. There was little peace in life as a hero, in afternoons spent training and working with the team, in helping to guide the newest generation, of evenings spent trying to maintain their political standing when necessary. There was quiet at times, but always with the looming threat that _something_ would happen, that something would come to change everything.

Somehow, it remained.

Sam had found a future, had found their peace of all things not in living a peaceful life, but in helping mold one for others. Their peaceful moments were when they dropped down to Harlem, when they took a weekend trip to DC. Their peace was in their family, in Steve and in their team. It was in the future they were building, for the world and for themself.

There was a special kind of peace in the compound like this. In waking just after dawn, the compound quiet all around them. There was no sound of movement in the building around them, but Sam knew that meant little. That Steve was probably up, getting ready for his morning run but leaving Natasha and Sharon sleeping. Tony was probably up as well in his lab, likely with Jim at his side as they worked on his next big project.

But all they could hear was the sound of T’Challa’s quiet breathing and all that mattered was the king, wrapped safely in their arms. His skin was bare against Sam’s, warmed from the night together and the blankets wrapped around them. Shielding them from the rest of the world. It was all Sam could do to draw him impossibly closer, fingers stroking gentle over his skin as Sam pressed a soft kiss to the tattoos decorating his shoulders.

It was second nature now, mapping out the ink there, pressing soft kisses to their lover’s body though they’d long since memorized the contours of his form.. They were greedy with it, fingers running along the strong muscles of T’Challa’s body, warm and solid beneath their hands, his skin soft and the scars he bore familiar now. 

It made it all the sweeter because of familiarity between them. They’d been given the privilege of learning T’Challa in every way and in turn T’Challa had done the same for them. There was a trust between them that Sam knew they were blessed to have, an openness that made the nights they spent together and the mornings in each others arms more meaningful.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re insatiable?” T’Challa’s voice was low, warm with affection and rough with sleep as he pressed back into Sam’s touch. “Do you believe in letting a man sleep, Sam?”

“Not when there’s better things to do,” It was hard to keep themself from laughing against T’Challa’s skin, impossible to keep themself from smiling. “Sleep seems like a waste of time, if you ask me.”

“Insatiable,” T’Challa repeated, stretching out against Sam, cat like and pressing back just enough to be a tease. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Maybe you’re just irresistible,” Sam kissed the back of T’Challa’s neck, just to feel him shiver, drawing it out as their fingers slid lower on his body “Can’t blame me, you really can’t.”

“Sam.”

“T’Challa.”

“Sam,” That was what they were after, the quiet gasp as their fingers smoothed over T’Challa’s thighs, the fine tremor of his body. T’Challa shifted, turned and they were both smiling into it when he kissed Sam properly, letting Sam shift them until T’Challa was beneath them.. “I have meetings to attend to this morning, you know. There’s only so much time I can commit to this.”

“We’ve got plenty of time.” Sam countered, not sparing so much as a glance at the clock.“Time to have a little fun, get you in the shower and send you off, no problem.” They flashed a lazy smirk as they spoke. “Consider it my… Contribution to the cause. Sending you off in a good mood.”

“That’s what we’re calling it now?” The words were teasing, but T’Challa’s eyes were full of warmth, his fingers light as they stroked over Sam’s spine. “Sounds to me like a way for you to get what you want.”

“I’ve already got what I want right here.” T’Challa kissed them again, softer then and Sam let themself get lost in it, in the leg hooked around his waist, how their bare skin slid together. The king was temptation itself, his every action an invitation and Sam wanted to get lost in him.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Still, it was T’Challa who chanced a look at the clock as Sam kissed their way down his neck, the familiar planes of his body, the scars on his chest now. “But I mean it. I imagine it won’t reflect well, if I’m late. I’m supposed to be _improving_ relationships with America.”

Sam smirked up at T’Challa, unrepentant and thrilling in the little catch of T’Challa’s breath. “Isn’t that what we’re doing right now? Here I thought things between Wakanda and America had never been better.” T'Challa huffed a low laugh at that as Sam drew enough just enough to shoot a sly smirk at the shield leaning up against the corner of their room. “I mean, if you ask me-”

“I didn’t, I knew you'd say something like that.” T’Challa cut them off with a laugh, dragging Sam up to kiss them slow and sweet once more, stopping them from saying anything else and leaving them breathless. It was a better alternative by far thean being shoved off the bed, something Sam knew the king would do without shame. “That was horrible. You're horrible”

“You love my jokes,” The words were quiet and hung between them as Sam let T’Challa kiss the again and again, letting themself get lost in him just a little.. “And you love me.”

The smile on T’Challa’s face was soft and brilliant, the warmth in his eyes overwhelming and awe inspiring. Warm fingers were gentle as they came up to touch their cheek, cradling gently and drawing Sam closer still. “I do,” T’Challa agreed, his voice low as he kissed Sam tenderly once more, the depth of the emotion settling around them. They were safe with each other, home, not in this building, but in each others arms.

And really, maybe finding home in all it's forms, in the people around them, in T'Challa was all that really mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks for reading! Comments and Kudos are always appreciated, or you can just come cry with me over Sam and T'Challa at [here](http://tchalcons.tumblr.com)


End file.
